


Try and hide the night (underneath the covers)

by brokentoy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentoy/pseuds/brokentoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a problem, Dean thinks, he's bound to bear the consequences of all on his own. It's on him and him alone, and the weight of it is crushing, pressing him into the ground and leaving him with no real desire to get back up and fight it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try and hide the night (underneath the covers)

**Author's Note:**

> Weecest caught me by surprise. It sneaked up on me and made me fall in love with it, and this is my first time playing with it, so...:)  
> A huge thank you to obstinatrix, who was sweet enough to be a much appreciated beta <3  
> Finally, title is from one of my all time favorite songs: Rebellion (lies) by The Arcade Fire. If you haven't already, I suggest you watch the video. It's inspired by the Pied Piper of Hamelin and it's just beautiful.

 

 

The problem, Dean thinks, is the way Sammy just doesn't get it.

How he just keeps going on with life like nothing has changed, like everything's still the same and all is well in the world.

Well, it's not. Not for Dean at least, and he hates it that Sam — Sam, who's so in tune with him he almost wonders if there's some kind of weird telepathy going on half of the time — just doesn't see it.

This is a problem, Dean thinks, he's bound to bear the consequences of all on his own. It's on him and him alone, and the weight of it is crushing, pressing him into the ground and leaving him with no real desire to get back up and fight it.

 

*

 

He doesn't know when it all stopped making sense; when all he always thought of as 'normal' —because, with the life they lead, quotation marks are as much part of his existence as wendigos and witches — just started changing and transforming, the axis of his world tipped on its side and his equilibrium slipping on its surface.

He knows he's way too young for this and at the same time not young enough to hide behind a curtain of innocence, to think and plead and make excuses because _“I didn't know... I'm sorry.”_

It's all on him: that, at least, he knows. It's something sick that grips him, that has his gut clenching and unclenching and that puts images in his mind when all he really needs is silence, please.

All he needs is a bit of calm, a place to stop and take a breath, slow the beating of his heart and just be alone for a while. To make sense of stuff he doesn't get, to find a way to just stop and leave it there, in the bathroom of a motel room, in the parking lot of a cheap diner or maybe, ideally, under the Impala, crushed under her weight and flattened into the dirt.

All he gets, instead, is a series of sleepless nights, a warm little body by his side and an erection he can't get himself to get rid of.

 

*

 

It's in the way Sammy acts just like he always has since he was a baby, ten years old by now and still running after Dean everywhere he goes, asking question after question and mouth full of why to each answer he ever gets; never happy, always curious and Dean is scared it'll soon be time he'll have to explain exactly why he tries to push Sam into starting to sleep alone. How he just needs Sammy to do this, just this, _for me_ ; how it would help, even if just a little.

But Sam doesn't want to; he doesn't want to sleep alone because Sam has nightmares, wakes up crying in the middle of the night and calls for Dean, always Dean and never Daddy.

It always ends the same on nights like this. Sammy hiccuping into Dean's shirt, mumbling nonsense against his neck and wetting skin with tears and warm breath, while big brother soothes him back to sleep, rubbing circles on his trembling back.

So Dean doesn't really insist on Sam sleeping alone and instead he toughens up and keeps silent.

He's becoming really good at it.

 

*

 

But if Dean could talk about it, he would say it was all his fault.

Even if it's Sam that scoots closer; even if he's the one to fold his little body as a bracket next to Dean, to force his leg — still short, but there's the wonder of growth inside those limbs and Dean is sure he'll tower over him someday — in between his and hold on as he whispers secrets about his day.

Sam, whose tiny fist grips his shirt and whose belly presses on Dean's side at every breath; who wants to be held and caressed, who asks for Dean's protection with every little movement of his dreams.

Dean would say it's all his fault and would believe it, too. Because he's the one to crave that warmth and imagine what he shouldn't and he's the one with pictures in his mind of his baby brother on his knees, little hands around Dean's cock and pink-pink cheeks dimpled in a smile.

He groans and wants to cry, but Sam scoots even closer and kisses his shoulder in his sleep and Dean forgets himself a bit, hugging his brother as hard as he dares and hoping he won't wake up.

These nights keep getting longer and Dean doesn't think it'll get better anytime soon.

 

*

 

So what Dean does is try and live with it. He swallows it down and hides himself from view behind a wall of little smiles and clenched teeth. Stares at the ceiling in the night, counting the lights of passing cars and matching his breath to Sammy's.

He stills him when he starts moving, dreaming what children dream of and possibly chasing away the nightmares; he pets his head, a mop of hair sweaty enough it keeps sticking to Dean's fingers as he threads them through the locks and in the meantime he thinks of something else -- anything else, really.

He thinks of hunting, of what his future will be like. He thinks of the first time John will ever let Dean join him and he just can't wait, can't wait to kill the first one of his monsters and save a pretty girl and maybe even get a kiss; for he'll be brave and strong and will deserve it, right?

He thinks about it all and at the same time he thinks that all he ever wants is not to leave Sammy's side, ever.

To always be there and protect him, to give him a chance to stay a kid as long as possible and grow up as normal as their life allows him to be; to check his homework and play with him, to be on the receiving end of his biggest smiles and always make him proud of his big brother.

It's all about Sammy, it always has been, and as Dean kisses Sam's sweaty temple he pushes all those other feelings down and hopes they'll go away.

Sammy murmurs in his sleep, then, a quiet _“Dean”_ all sweet and tender, crawling up into Dean's space even more, filling hole after hole with his soft breaths and warm hands and Dean is lost again, defeated and powerless and insignificant before the enormity of it all.

He sighs, says, _“Yeah, I'm here, baby,”_ in a rough breath, and tries to will himself to fall unconscious.


End file.
